


The Man of One Thousand Faces

by kavsdick, Oodles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: (sort of), Fanart, M/M, Mirrors, One Night In Paris, Second Person, We Honestly Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavsdick/pseuds/kavsdick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oodles/pseuds/Oodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can almost forget your face in a place like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man of One Thousand Faces

 

Sometimes you wake in someone else’s skin.

You go to the mirror and you check yourself in a cold sweat. You take a sharp breath, hold it, and let it out in staggering jolts.

You thought you left him behind, but he is back, cornering you while you think about smoking and remember that you stopped.

“Don’t have any cigarettes,” you say quickly.

He leans on the table that you’re sitting by.

“Your ego seems to get bigger every time I see you.”

“You have to have a strong sense of self to get into this work.”

“Is that why you’re such a prat?”

Smile.

Don’t let him too close. That brain of yours can get ugly. That’s why you wear such beautiful faces. He won’t want to see your true one.

“What’s the girl’s totem?” you ask. Easy question.

“Chess piece,” he responds, glancing over at her connected to the PASIV. She is busy building mazes, while you try to navigate them.

“What about yours?” he asks.

You look at him as if he was asking you to solve complex equations. Not that you couldn’t, but rather that couldn’t be less relevant.

“I know you have a totem,” he goes on. “And I know it isn’t that poker chip you carry around. Though I enjoy the attempt at misdirection.”

“What, you’re the only one allowed a totem from a casino?”

“You stole my idea.”

“Borrowed.”

Keep things simple. Witty, if you must. Keep a space between you and the others at all times. Even when you’re dreaming. They can’t know how easy this is for you. How putting someone else on is like pulling on a shirt and fastening the tie.

Cinched to the neck.

“Why the sudden interest?” You hope to flip the script. Get him to back off.

“We’ll be sharing minds one more time. I have to know what I’m getting into.”

“Well it’s different this time, isn’t’ it?” you say. “We’re on the same side.”

“Can we trust you, Eames?”

His gaze is sharpened and settled right between your eyes. You can feel the pressure of it. The tip of the knife.

“I trust you know me well enough.”

Wrong answer.

He straightens his back and nods. “Will you go under with Ariadne and teach her more about projections?”

You salute him. “Yes, captain.”

He will remember this. So will you.

 

* * *

 

The girl’s mind is still new and fresh and open. Not like his. No locked doors here. You let her mess around, and talk to your subconscious, like a little kid at the zoo. “I can ask them anything?” she says.

“Within reason,” you tell her.

She glances back at you, and then turns to a man walking towards them. “Excuse me,” she says. “What’s your favorite color?”

The man glares at her, shakes his head and moves on, muttering.

You laugh. She turns, disappointed. “You said anything.”

“I said within reason. You don’t ask a man on the street his favorite color and you certainly don’t ask me.”

“You don’t have a favorite?” she asks, playful. Naïve.

You smile. “Of course I do, but you don’t need to know that.”

“Do you have a safe built somewhere in here with your favorite color inside?”

“Everyone keeps their favorites locked away. That’s why it’s such a hard question. It’s sealed up so tight, half the time we don’t even know the answer.”

 

* * *

 

You are reluctant to go back to your room, because you know what awaits you there. You spent far too much time studying Browning and now you twitch like him. He lurks under the surface. You know if you sleep tonight, you won’t be yourself.

“Hungry?” he asks, standing behind you.

You two are the last left. Cobb and Yusuf are off doing their experiments with the somnacin. Ariadne left an hour ago.

Your teeth are clenched.

Unwind.

“Thirsty?” he amends.

“Now you’re talking,” you say and finally face him.

You wonder how he keeps his clothes buttoned so tightly. You can barely breathe just looking at him. But he is just as he always is. Calm and collected. Infuriatingly so. You get into the car.

Your brain begins to play games with itself.

“Why can’t I have the poker chip?” you ask.

He scoffs. “You’re too smart to gamble that much. You think I don’t know you count cards?”

“Says the man with the loaded die.”

“At least it’s not a loaded gun.”

You fall silent.

“I’m not Cobb,” you tell him.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re more suspicious than ever.” Keep things in control now. This is your conversation.

“Mal made sure of that,” he says, and that note of grief digs under your skin.

Who are you tonight? Are you the friend or the foe? Are you the partner or the saboteur? Choose your side, quickly, before he forces your hand.

“She seemed…”

He cuts you a look, warning you.

“Unimaginable.”

He relaxes his grip on the wheel.

 

* * *

 

The bar is loud and dim and you can feel your mind shifting around. This is comfortable. This is noise. This is where you belong.

He leads the way to the back where he can still see you. Ever the point man, he is on guard for you. Because of you. You are the animal here.

“Tell me how this will go down,” he says.

You take a drink first, and your gaze automatically skims the bodies around you. Every shape, every size, you’ve been them all before. You can almost forget your face in a place like this.

“Here’s how,” you say, staring at a woman across the way, talking a man trying much too hard. You want to correct his posture. You could do the job better. “Yusuf is inexperienced so he gets the easiest level, the first. You take care of the second layer, because we can rely on you. I take the third because I’ve done this before.”

“Attempted,” he corrects and takes a drink.

You almost rise to the bait. “Cobb obviously will take lead with Fischer. I assume you’re up on your research.”

“He’s one of the most well watched men in the world,” he says.

“Everyone has their secrets,” you remind him.

“What are yours then?”

You take a drink. “That I hate bars.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asks. He doesn’t sound offended but sometimes it’s hard to tell with him.

“Quite the contrary,” you say. What is his plan?

“Then you know I’ve been looking into you,” he says.

You nod. Of course you know. It would be stupid to leave you unchecked.

“You talked,” he says quietly. “In your sleep. When you were hooked up with Ariadne.”

Now he has you, doesn’t he? You fool. You took care of this. You got it under control. This was supposed to be simple.

It’s never simple with him though, is it?

Your gaze wanders back to the crowd.

“I can’t let you in with us if you’re going—”

“Don’t,” you snarl, turning back on him. Your hand goes to his arm under the table. “Don’t pretend this is about the job.”

He startles, barely hiding it, but not well enough for you. You spend your life studying others. You don’t miss a thing.

Apparently, he doesn’t either.

“What did I say?” you ask.

“Let me go,” he says. Whatever banter you two shared is gone now.

You squeeze harder, keeping him there for a moment before releasing him. Put your hands on your cold glass and calm down. Take a breath.

Who are you tonight?

“You said something about being locked up.”

“Come on,” you say, and you stand. You head for the door. You swipe the keys from his pocket and you get into the car without waiting to see if he follows.

What are you doing?

“Eames,” he says, barely falling into the passenger seat before you take off driving.

“That’s not my name,” you say.

You fool.

“I know,” he says, because it’s obvious.

“Do you know what it means to be a forger?” you ask. You’ve done it now.

“I have a feeling my answer isn’t the one you’re looking for.”

You switch gears. You feel the safe door turning. Sunlight on cold hands.

“It’s the ability to lose yourself and become another person. You have to be so good that you trick a stranger’s subconscious into accepting you as reality. That’s why there aren’t many of us out there.”

“You’re speeding,” he says.

You are silent until you can find a place to park, to get out and walk around. You want to punch something. You want to punch him.

“I haven’t been under in a while.”

“Fooled me,” he says, hands in his pockets, waiting out your storm. You wonder if he’s got his hand on the die.

“This could go very wrong,” you say, finally stopping. You turn your face to the moon. Not the sun, but close enough. You, too, stick your hand in your pocket. You pull out the small dark compact and open it up, staring at the cracked mirror inside. Two faces stare back at you, yours and his.

 

You face him again.

“Let me out,” he says. “I’m up there right now. You could have the real thing if you just opened your eyes.”

“How?”

Arthur levels a gun at your head. “Just one last kick.”

 

* * *

 

You wake in someone else’s skin, and check the mirror in a cold sweat. You see your own fractured face staring back. The lawn chair is a dismal excuse for a bed. Yusuf leans down and taps his watch.

“Strong stuff, yes?”

You nod. “More intense than your last.”

Yusuf nods, proud.

You stand and leave the room. It’s dark out and everyone has left for the day.

“Why did you want to test this out anyway?” Yusuf asks.

“Just had to let something out of there,” you tell him. “Before we go under.”

“I hope you did,” Yusuf says, packing his things up. “I’m certainly counting on you.”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. You have one less face to carry.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the Inceptiversary 2015 Fanbook, we finally decided to share it with y'all on here.
> 
> Download the super cool pdf here: http://bit.ly/291G3kQ


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